


the Lord of the Woods comes a-calling

by jubah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: The Last Court
Genre: Gen, power struggle with magical creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubah/pseuds/jubah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The creature might have the antlers, but you are the blood of the Stag and no one else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the Lord of the Woods comes a-calling

**1\. the Lord of the Woods comes a-calling**

It was not the fear on your hunter’s eyes that hardened your heart, but his expression of utter confusion. He was hunting in your woods. The deer slung over the Horned Knight’s shoulders could have been your own prey. The arrow on his flank was the same as the ones in your quiver. It could have been _you_.

“There is only one Marquise in Serault. The Applewoods belong to me, as do the hunter and his quarry. I offer no compensation for what is mine to begin with!”

Later you can’t remember if this so-called Lord of the Woods truly had eyes or not, but at the time it seemed he did, and that they were full of contempt and… something familiar. When you finally think of arresting the creature, it is already gone, leaving behind wet, mossy slime on your carpet and all over your hunter’s leathers.

You can’t afford to send soldiers into the woods right now, when Serault needs them, but you put out his description and order your soldiers to be watchful. Hopefully the damned creature will go plague some other less populated forest and disappear. Vaguely, you wonder whether it will bury the deer, or simply let flowers grow over its corpse,

And then, for a time, you forget.

 

* * *

 

**2\. unwelcome**

You scream in frustration.

You were born and bred in these woods, and you have hunted here at leisure for years. Every nook and cranny should be familiar to you, and so they are…. and yet everything has changed.

It’s like the forest glares you with accusing eyes, as if it recalls the blood you and your family have spilled under its watchful leaves, generation after generation. You have never been ungrateful; you’ve protected the Applewoods and taken care of them. You have loved them even as your mother did, or more. But they have turned against you, you’re sure of it, and so the ravens and the wild brambles peck at your skin mercilessly, and when you finally kill your prey, it feels like murder.

“The woods belong to me!” You shout at the empty sky, while your wearied party members seem to wonder if the Shame is more like a family curse than a family legend.

 

* * *

 

**3\. the Abbess’ road**

You realize your smile must look sharper than you intended it when even your counsellor looks at you a bit queerly. But truly, you’re past the point of caring. This is nothing like the games of Val Royeaux; no need for masks in this particular court.

“Estemeed Abbess,” you say, reclining in your chair, “you shall have soldiers, arms and whatever else you need to complete the task. Serault shall have this road built even if we have to tear the woods apart, I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

This is war.

 

* * *

 

 

**4\. the Heartwood feast**

It seems like years have passed, though you’re aware it has only been a few hours at most.

You sit at the Lord of the Wood’s feast as though you are in a dream. It’s all so lovely and grotesque, pretty flowers and buzzing insects covering the mouths, eyes and skin of lost sons and daughters of Serault. It ought to outrage you, but you only feel a vague mix of awe and disgust. In the back of your mind, you can almost picture the Shame of Serault looking at you with a mocking expression on his face. It doesn’t anger you.

You have half a mind of setting fire to the whole Applewoods, but you’d never be forgiven… by the woods or by their Lord, you don’t know anymore. It occurs to you Andraste’s true face has always been hidden under a mask, and you have never truly known your gods. Maybe you were never supposed to.

You have never truly known your gods, but it seems you are meeting all their servants on earth after all. So instead of setting fire to the woods, you invite their Lord to feast with Andraste’s worldly representant when she comes a-calling as well, and you drink deep from the cup he offers you without thinking twice.

 

* * *

 

**5\. the last court**

You hardly feel it anymore when you go into the woods. They still make you feel unwelcome, but even that has become familiar. You toss your own provisions to the ravens while your hounds try to find the scent of their quarry again.

Barons, knights, dowagers…. they are lords in their own right, but they owe their allegiance to Serault nonetheless, and you are Serault. The Lord of the Woods can hold his faerie court in the woods, and the trees can glare at you like your lords do when you offend their petty sensibilities. It makes no matter, as long as they remember just who is the Marquise. The creature might have the antlers, but you are the blood of the Stag and no one else.

The Chantry bells ring in the distance, warning the market folk that the day will soon be over, and the sound dispells the mood entirely. Your hounds bark loudly. You spur your horse in hot pursuit, smiling as you close in on your quarry, leaving your party behind and preparing to throw your javelin at the beast.

As usual, your aim is true.

**Author's Note:**

> (As usual, thank you Kate for helping me with this even though you're not in this fandom!)


End file.
